


Marco's Starry Night

by EternalSoldierKasumi, RainingStars



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blowjobs, Jean being a bit of a creeper and drawing on Marco while he's sleeping, M/M, Oneshot, Roommates, Shower Sex, jean is so far in the closet he's friends with Aslan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:30:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalSoldierKasumi/pseuds/EternalSoldierKasumi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingStars/pseuds/RainingStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean might not be Van Gogh, but what he's just created is definitely a masterpiece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marco's Starry Night

Jean rolls over onto his left side for the fourth time that night, a quiet, irritated groan letting loose from the back of his throat. He opens his eyes and huffs, his hand carding through the dirty blond half of the haircut his parents never approved of, then sits up and tosses the cage of sheets off of his legs.

_What time…? 1:50. Wonder if Marco’s up._ He sighs and makes his way out the threshold, down the hall, and into the open door of his roommate’s bedroom. He stands in the doorway, leaning on the frame as his eyes adjust to the darkness and find the sleeping twenty-something facing the dim light from the city outside his window.

He smiles to himself. Marco is nothing if not habitual. Jean knows this after two years of sharing an apartment with the brunet. He gets up at six-thirty on the dot every morning, and has a bagel and coffee with two spoonfuls of sugar and so much cream that it’s probably unhealthy. He goes to his fancy grad school classes, comes home, pesters Jean to make dinner when _the chart obviously says it’s his turn_ , takes a shower, and goes to bed, facing the window every night.

Jean, on the other hand, leaves his dirty socks on the floor and only finds them weeks later after he shoves his bed aside to grab a fallen piece of paper. He forgets to put his plates in the dishwasher after he’s done eating, and drinks his coffee black like a fucking man, _come on, seriously Marco, only pussies drink coffee with cream and sugar._ He falls asleep on the sofa watching _Friends_ reruns, and uses too much shampoo for the amount of hair he actually has on his head. After five months, he’s still not used to the length, cut short on a whim after Marco mentioned that he thought Jean might look good with an undercut. 

The two of them are incredibly different from each other, yet still Jean finds himself standing in the doorway of Marco’s bedroom.

He wouldn’t admit it, of course. It’s been a year since he first imagined pinning Marco up against a wall and kissing him, but Jean still asks his roommate to crash with Reiner on nights that he plans to bring home blondes, redheads, and pastel-dyed. He avoids girls with freckles, or hair colors too close to _his_ to tell the difference in the dark. 

When night keeps him up, Jean always finds himself in the threshold of Marco Bodt’s bedroom in their shared apartment, watching the way that the night lights of Chicago fall over the freckles on his shoulders. And oh, how he’d like to run his fingers along those freckles, to draw lines and connect the dots, to turn his back into constellations. But what if Marco were to wake up? He’d most likely be fucked up the stream without a paddle or excuse as to why he was creeping on his roommate (whom he has _completely platonic_ feelings for). He wouldn’t be able to bear it if Marco left or asked Jean to leave because the idiot couldn’t control his goddamn impulses.

But damn, Marco’s freckles look fantastic in the light. Jean really, really wants to trace the shit out of them...

...So why the fuck doesn’t he?

Jean tiptoes forward, forcing himself toward Marco’s bed before his resolve snaps, and he slowly, carefully kneels onto the mattress, next to the brunet. He reaches out a hand, and gently sets it on Marco’s arm.

\---

Marco isn’t the type to remember dreams, and when he does, they're usually about millions of things that somehow weave themselves into a nonsensical array that becomes impossible to understand when exposed to the light of day. 

First, there is only a soft, warm feeling that spreads throughout his body. He often feels this before a dream, and thinks nothing of it, surrendering to the series of quiet creaks and rustles that sound so real it’s almost unsettling. There is a brush against his arm so slight that it sends shivers down his spine. The brushing ceases for a moment, and Marco feels a great weight lift off of his bed, only to return mere seconds later. Then, something soft drags along his cheek, something that feels like... a felt-tip marker? Huh, that was oddly specific. The sensation twirls and swirls and zigzags across the bridge of his nose and just above his lip. Marco can’t help but giggle a little. Everything feels so real in this dream. No images to take in, no bizarre stories to unravel, just tingle after tingle that soon consumes every part of him, though the marker--or whatever is running across his skin--never strays from his face. He absentmindedly reaches a hand to brush at his cheek. 

And then the sensation stops. It stops so abruptly, that it takes Marco by surprise. The tingling immediately turns into an itch, and the young man’s eyes fly open. 

\---

This stopped being sexy like five minutes ago, and now Jean just thinks it’s downright fucking hilarious. Marco looks like he passed out drunk at a frat party, with all the magic marker covering his face. Jean might not be Van Gogh, but what he’s just created is definitely a masterpiece. He tries so hard not to laugh that the hand with the marker pulls away in order to cover his mouth.

That laughter doesn’t last long. There is a murmur from below, and Jean is made aware that, oh fuck, the fun is over. 

“Ugh,” comes the eloquent first word of the newly awakened Marco. Jean’s first thought is, _shit, I didn’t get to finish._

“Hnnnuh?” Marco’s next word, just as intelligent as the first, leaves Jean frozen, marker in hand, trying desperately to disappear into thin air. In a state of panic, he pulls away from Marco, trying to get off of the bed, but ends up twisting his foot in the sheets and tripping onto the floor.

Marco springs up, wide-eyed and alert. “...Jean?” His third word lets Jean know he is shit out of luck. No backing out now. 

He sits up and gives his roommate a sheepish smile. “Oh, hey, Marco. Shit, was I sleepwalking _again_?”

As soon as Jean says something stupid, Marco knows foul play has been going on. “Jean, why are you in my room?”

“Nothing, no reason. Good view of the street from here, you know? Okay, it’s late, I’m just gonna go back to my room. Night, Marco!” Jean scrambles to his feet and starts to make his way down the hallway.

“...What? Jean, seriously, why were you here? Jean!” Marco fumbles groggily for a moment before he throws his sheets aside, jumping out of bed to pursue his roommate who dashes away. “JEAN, c’mon!” He is about to continue, but a dizziness overtakes him. Getting out of bed so suddenly was not a good idea. And, jeez, he seriously has to pee…

“I’m using the bathroom, and then you’re going to tell me why you’re acting so weird!” Marco heads for the bathroom and steps in, hurriedly flicking on the light as he lunges to the toilet and drops his boxers. Thirty seconds later, he sighs with relief. _So much better._ Hiking the boxers back up, Marco steps towards the sink, briefly glancing in the mirror befo-- _WHAT THE HELL IS ON MY FACE?_

Marco can’t tear his eyes away. He’s so awed that his vision goes blurry for a moment before refocusing on the scribbles of black overtaking his face, save for the bottom of his left cheek. The lines have no order whatsoever, running here and there, breaking off at certain sections to make room for new ones. Was this what his dream had been? Quickly, the black-marked boy gathers a palmful of water and splashes it onto his face, successfully smudging the lines on his chin. Dammit. He leans even closer to the mirror, unsure of what to think. 

...Wait a second. Wait a damn second. Were the lines… _connecting his freckles?_

“Hey, Jean?” Marco’s voice is cool and only slightly shaky.

The reply that comes from down the hall is a pitch or two higher than Jean’s regular voice. “Yeah?” A cough, a grumble, and he repeats it in a voice much lower. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Nothing. Nothing yet, at least. But my foot may be making its way up your ass in a second unless you can explain what this stuff is all over my face.” The tiny whimper from Jean is all it takes to satisfy Marco. The guy acts tough, though he really is a coward when cornered. Marco slowly walks down the hallway, making sure his footsteps are placed upon the floorboards that creak and mark how close he is to Jean’s room. 

When he makes it into the room, Jean is sitting on the corner of his bed, and both of them become highly aware that Marco has at least three inches on Jean’s shrunken stature, though their structures are similar. Jean gives another guilty smile.

“Hey, Marco, you’ve tanned,” he jokes half-heartedly.

Marco rolls his eyes. “Jean, I don’t tan. I burn and then get freckles, which I think you’ve found out for yourself.” A guilting finger points directly at the damage his roommate has inflicted. Jean pales and averts his eyes, suddenly becoming very interested in the dark blue curtain next to him.

Jean is avoiding Marco’s burning stare. Marco isn’t necessarily angry, more like confused and seriously annoyed at waking up at two in the morning to find marker all over his face. “C’mon, Jean, what’s up?” No response. “Jeeeean.” Nothing. “Did you have a bad day?” He waits for a confirming nod, yet doesn’t receive one. Nevertheless, he asks, half-jokingly, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Jean mutters, a sudden bitterness in his voice.

A bitterness that Marco doesn’t think is fair at all. “Hey, seriously. People just don’t draw on their friend’s faces. I mean, if it was a prank I guess they would. Is it a prank?”

“Yes,” Jean says quickly, all too eager for a way out of this ordeal, to get Marco out of his room so he can crawl back into bed and berate himself for this stupid stunt.

Yeah, sketchy business is definitely going on. Marco goes over to Jean and seats himself next to him. His friend is suddenly so angsty that Marco is unsure of what to say next, so he tries for a laugh. “Is this your way of telling me I need a makeover?” 

The half-blond gasps and leans in closer without thinking, shaking his head emphatically. “No, _no_ , Marco, you’re perfect.”

Silence hangs between them for a moment, before Jean realizes how close he is to Marco’s face, which is still handsome despite the black marker all across it, and also _what he just said oh shit oh shit_. He slides away, turning his head to stare intently at the wall beside him. “I mean, uh, it was totally just a prank, bro. No harm, no foul, right?”

Marco is taken aback by how quickly Jean moves away from him. Did he have morning breath, even this early? He takes in the troubled gaze that fleets across his friend’s face for a split second. It’s almost like a child who has been caught saying something bad, although it seems like it has more to do with thought than speech. Jean looks sort of cute when he furrows his brow pensively. Cute and troubled work well with his shaped features. Of course, that's just an observation. Marco is probably still tired, or else he would have never noticed that. The fluster in Jean’s voice is enough to make Marco smirk. “You never call me bro, bro.”

Jean laughs shakily, still turned away. “What? Yeah, I do. All the time. You’re super tired, aren’t you? You should probably go wash that stupid marker off and go back to sleep.”

“I tried, but it just smudges. What the heck did you even use, anyway?” 

Jean snorts. “I think it was permanent.”

That isn’t what Marco wants to hear at all. A hand flies to his cheek, and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Bro, I have school Monday.” Now Jean’s adorable furrowed brows raise, and he is scared, yet still adorable. Marco is confused for a second. Why does that word keep coming to his mind? He’s snapped out of his brief internal questioning by a laugh.

“Shit, I was _not_ thinking of that.” Jean shakes his head as he runs his hand through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his face. “Well, scrub hard, then.”

Marco shifts uncomfortably for a moment, a rosy glow beginning to make itself known even under the black smudged mess cluttering his face. “...Jean, I have sensitive skin and--” his friend’s laughter shuts him up. Now Jean is probably going to call him a pussy, and he’s going to laugh that laugh that fills Marco with warmth, even when the laughter is at his expense. 

Still. He _does_ have sensitive skin…

Jean shakes his head, laughing. “I really did not think this out. It’s just that they looked like stars and--” He pauses, his face turning red and his hands flying to his hair, pulling it in frustration. “Shit, I said that out loud.”

Marco cocks his head curiously, a smirk playing on his lips. “You think my freckles are like stars, Jean?” This is a new and interesting observation. He’s been made fun of for his freckles before. In fact, they were Marco’s least favorite part about himself. They seemed to congregate everywhere and take up all of his clear, smooth skin (he’d been a very fortunate pre-teen during puberty), and no matter what, they never went away. He remembers seriously wanting to bleach them when he was seventeen, because while all of the other guys at school were playing sports and gaining muscle, he just seemed to be gaining spots. Girls tended to like the muscles better. Maybe losing his freckles would help him look older and tougher, which would get Annie to like him as more than a friend? Eventually Marco had realized that he wasn’t her type, and that all the bleach in the world wouldn’t fix that, so the idea was quickly abandoned, leaving him to spend the remainder of his high school life single. 

Now Jean is calling them stars. And Marco hasn’t had an honest-to-god crush in years. And Jean thinks Marco’s freckles resemble something beautiful. Marco’s freckles are dull and misshapen and…

“That’s a good one, man. These freckles aren’t nearly as nice as stars.”

“I think they are,” Jean replies quietly. He is turned toward the wall again, one hand on the bed and the other still in his hair, the dirty blond strands sticking up in odd directions from all the manhandling. “I think they’re the most beautiful part of you.”

Marco is unsure of what to say. This whole situation is bizarre. Jean is hiding something, but god knows the stubborn jackass isn’t going to just tell him what’s up. But here he is, talking about Marco’s freckles and how they’re stars and beautiful. And here Marco is, still flushed and noticing how small beads of sweat are forming along Jean’s hairline. He has to be looking closely to notice this. He _is_ looking closely. And Jean’s face is so close and for some weird reason (this whole night was filled with weird reasons), he sort of wants to lean forward and kiss the lips that are now being chewed in either a nervous or unsure manner. He sort of wants to make Jean's teeth stop biting his lips, and instead bite his tongue.

Jean turns his head to say something, but stops when he realizes how close their faces are. His eyebrows raise, and his eyes remind Marco of the moon--big, round, and full of light.

“You really shouldn’t be that close,” Jean whispers, his voice cracking.

Jean looks as though he hopes the brown haired man didn’t hear this crack. But he did. Marco ignores it, though, and instead maintains his close proximity. “Jean, what’s going on with you? You’re just acting..." He sighed, unable to think of a proper description. "You know you can tell me anything.”

“Not this. I can’t tell you this. You’d hate me.”

“Jean. I have permanent marker on my face. You put it there for a reason, and not just because you think my freckles look like stars.” They stay there, silent for another brief moment before Marco quietly adds, “Besides, I could never hate you.”

Jean laughs, a bitter sound, and looks down. Their hands are resting on the bed, and he moves his on top of Marco’s, grasping it tentatively. “I don’t know how to…”

“Jean. It’s just me.”

“That’s the thing, Marco. I can’t say it because it’s you.” Jean’s voice is barely there, and his breaths are shallow as he leans forward, closing the gap between their faces to touch his forehead to Marco’s.

Marco has never questioned his sexuality. He’s always accepted that, while he enjoys girls very much, a small part of him can’t deny the fact that he’ll check out a particularly good looking guy every so often. Jean Kirschstein falls into the very good looking category. And now, as his forehead presses against Marco’s (an act _Jean_ has initiated), Marco can’t deny the small flutter he feels in his stomach. They’ve been rooming together for two years. How long has Jean been thinking about Marco in this way? Now that he thinks about it, Marco can remember catching Jean looking at him in an odd way. As if Jean was imagining how soft Marco’s lips were, or maybe how his freckles looked like stars. Now, if he thinks about it, Marco can remember looking at Jean every so often, and noticing how nice his hair was looking, or how his hazel eyes sometimes glinted with a few flecks of gold if he was in the light of the sun. 

Now that they are so close, Marco is curious. He wonders what will happen if he reaches out and brushes a hand through Jean’s hair. So he does. And as Jean takes in a sharp breath, Marco wonders what will happen if he catches that breath in his own mouth. So he places his lips on Jean’s. Jean, who tastes like warmth and light and fear and wanting, all with a dash of peppermint toothpaste. Jean, who looks pretty freaking incredible...or, so Marco assumes. He always looks incredible, but Marco's eyes are closed at the moment. He only wants to focus on the kiss.

Jean thinks every vital organ in his body has stopped. He can’t feel his heart, even though it should be racing. He can’t feel his breath, even though he should be hyperventilating. He thinks he’s crying, too, but all he can really feel is Marco’s lips on his, and that hand running through his hair and smoothing the tangled, gravity-defying mess. He kisses back, reaching up to cup Marco’s cheek, still black with marker. He doesn’t stop until his lungs burn, and then he pulls away, but his hand stays.

The brush of Jean's hand against Marco’s cheek is enough to make the marked-up boy want to tackle him and demand more, but he can’t. He’s so wrapped up in the sensations running through every nerve in his body, something that never happened when he was with a girl he’d found at a party, or casually decided to date for a week or so. No, Jean knew what he was doing, and he knew how to do it well. So fucking well. Jean breaks off, keeping his hand on Marco’s cheek, and Marco simply stares. He doesn’t know what else to do. He can only stare as his mind races, and eventually allows him to open his mouth and say, “Now, was that so hard to tell me?”

Jean breaks the mood first, pulling his hand away as he bursts into laughter. He keeps laughing as he falls backwards onto his bed, his hand finding Marco’s and pulling him down next to him. Marco giggles, honest-to-God giggles, and allows himself to flop down next to Jean. 

“How long?” Jean asks, winding their fingers together.

“How long what?” Marco replies, playing with the other boy’s hands.

Jean rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean, you idiot.”

“I think that question would be better directed at you, Mister ‘I-Can’t-Say-It-Because-It's-You’.”

Jean laughs, and it makes Marco smile with its genuine warmth. “Touché. A year, I think. Give or take a few months. You?”

“Well, I can’t say when I started liking you, but I’ve always accepted the fact that I think you’re pretty good looking.” Marco gives a sly little shrug, and scoots a bit closer to Jean. The two fit nicely together, he notices. “So this is why you drew on my face?”

The blonde groans. “I’m not gonna get over that. It was a seriously stupid thing, but I was tired and angry because _Eren fucking Jaeger--_ ” He broke off, sighing. “You probably don’t want to hear about that right now.”

“I don’t. He’s an asshole and you let him work you up too much,” Marco states plainly. “But you know what? It’s fine. Because everything happens for a reason, and if he wasn’t a douchebag, you wouldn’t have drawn on my face and called my freckles stars and we wouldn’t have…” he trails off happily for a moment, and rests his cheek against Jean’s shoulder as he puts an arm around him. “You really thought I would hate you?”

Jean lets out a breath, running a hand up and down Marco’s arm. “Yeah, I did. Not everyone is cool with their gay roommate coming on to them, and drawing on them like a fucking creep.” 

“You’re not a creep. You’re just my gay _friend_ who happened to come onto me, and I happened to want it. Lucky, huh?” Marco whispers the last bit into Jean’s ear, pulling him closer.

Jean pulls away just a fraction of a second before he almost finds his lips on Marco’s again, his expression sincere, and still scared. “Wait. I don’t want to do anything, if you’re…unless you’re serious. About me. Because I am.” His voice is stilted by nerves and fear.

Marco pulls away a little, contemplating the tone of Jean’s voice. It’s so fragile and weary. He’s sure he’s the only one who’s ever borne witness to it. “Jean, you never finished.” He waits for the puzzled expression to settle onto Jean’s face. 

“Huh?”

“I have more stars, you know. Not just on my face. Want to see them?”

It takes a moment for Jean to put together what Marco means, but when he does, the brightest smile spreads over his face, and he pulls Marco in for another kiss, far bolder this time.

\---

So this is happening. Actually, truly happening. What _this_ is, Marco can’t say. But it sure as hell is going to go past kissing. Marco would wonder every so often, what it would be like if he actually were with a man, but he’s never imagined it would feel this...easy. Jean is just a person, much like any girl Marco has been with. A person with a heart and mind and a pair of excellent lips that feel amazing when Marco places his against them. Jean is just a person, but now he is Marco’s. And god, does it just feel right. 

Jean is taking control, on all fours above Marco, and his earlier nerves seem distant, as if he has always been this confident in his place above Marco’s body. His lips move away from Marco’s, and press kisses along the freckled jaw and neck. 

“I can’t believe you ever thought these were ugly,” he mumbles against the brunet’s jugular. Jean pauses his attack on Marco’s neck for a moment to nuzzle his nose into the nape.

Marco lets out a breathy laugh at the sudden tickling sensation on the back of his neck. “Jean! Quit that.” He hears a soft chuckle from the other, who presses one last kiss on the skin and pulls away.

“We should get you cleaned up, Marco. You’ve still got marker all over your face.”

“Fuck it,” Marco pulls Jean’s face towards his and greedily kisses it, on the nose, cheeks, and finally, simply, on his lips. He can’t get enough. God, why has it taken him so long to taste them? When Marco finally breaks away, panting, he manages to say, “It’s not going to come out easily, so why bother?”

Another chuckle comes from Jean, but this time it’s somewhat darker, and it makes Marco very aware of every single point of contact between their bodies. “Maybe you just need a good shower, and someone to help you scrub it off.”

“And I’m assuming by ‘someone’, you’re talking about yourself?”

“Yeah,” Jean replies, the nervousness in his voice resurfacing, as if he’s still trying to tiptoe around what Marco is and isn’t okay with. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Marco pulls Jean up and off the bed so fast that Jean doesn’t even have time to respond. He bolts to the bathroom with the other boy in tow, practically whipping him into the small room before he himself enters. “This shirt’s a nice color, but it’s got to go,” he says as he lifts Jean’s shirt off of him. Jean eagerly complies, and there is a muffled mention of, “Kinky, huh?” from under the cotton. “Yeah, yeah, shut up...oh my god. Jean. You are so...” Marco can’t even finish. In the two years of rooming together, he’s seen Jean shirtless many times. But now that Jean’s his, it’s so different. The muscles in his arms seem more inviting. His stomach, toned from years of sports, is just so ridiculously sexy. Crap, how has he been missing out on this for so long?

Jean crosses his arms, smirking. “Hey, beautiful, my eyes are up here.”

Marco rolls his eyes and pushes Jean against the wall. “Sorry, I was distracted by something else.” He kisses Jean’s neck, biting gently at the skin. He wants to mark Jean, just as Jean had marked him. The moan that escapes the other boy’s lips is enough to send shivers of pleasure down Marco’s spine. He wants this, he really fucking wants this. Marco moves down to the newly exposed skin, exploring each inch with his lips, his hands rubbing Jean’s back until they make their way lower and lower. 

“Jean, no matter what shit anyone gives you, just know that you have an absolutely amazing ass.” He feels the vibrations of Jean’s laughter moving through their bodies as Marco continues to kiss Jean all over. 

“I could say the same to you,” Jean replies. “I mean, I’ve spent a year admiring it. I should know.” He reaches into the shower as Marco kisses him, turning the knob to let the water warm up. “Now, how about you take off those boxers and let me mark you up in other ways?”

“God, we sound like such newbs,” Marco laughs as he tugs off his own shirt. 

“Hey, it works on other boys. Most people would kill to be in your position, Bodt.”

“Most people, meaning Connie.”

“Hey!” Jean laughs, punching Marco’s shoulder. “That little crush of his is gone, okay?”

“Jean, I was kidding,” Marco takes Jean’s hand. “Besides, Connie realized that he’d rather go after Sasha than you. Lucky me, right?”

“Lucky _me_ , more like it,” Jean says, grinning at their hands.

Marco glances towards the shower. “Water seems pretty hot. Want to test it out?”

“I know something else that’s hot.” Jean smirks, then sighs, the expression falling away. “No, shit, that was bad. Forget I said that.”

Marco can’t help but let out a loud guffaw, taken aback by the sheer corniness of the joke. “Oh my God, you’re lucky you’re cute.” He kisses Jean, and in the midst of it pulls down his pants, boxers and all. Jean makes a noise, which Marco swallows with a kiss once more before shedding his own pants and leading him into the shower. 

Jean makes sure that they don’t trip getting into the shower, and he’s grateful that their apartment has a bathtub, too. It gives them plenty of space, and he’s certain that they’ll need it.

The first thing he does is drop to his knees and grasp Marco’s cock. The brunet might not be experienced with guys, but Jean thinks that a blowjob is somewhat neutral territory--he’s probably gotten them from girls. 

He smiles to himself at the small gasp that comes from above him as he leans forward to press kisses to the head. He’s given a few BJs in his life, and he thinks he’s pretty good, but he’s never liked the taste. (After the first time, he vowed to always wash thoroughly down there.) Maybe it’s just because it’s Marco, and Jean’s been wondering what Marco tastes like for a long time, but he doesn’t really mind this time. Marco’s somewhat salty, and sort of smells like sandalwood. 

Jean massages the underside with his thumb while he softly blows cool air onto the tip. Marco sucks in a sharp breath and grips fruitlessly at the smooth tile walls of the shower, looking for something to clutch on to as his knees go weak and he feels himself harden. 

“Oh my fu--” he moves his hands quickly and secures a fistful of Jean’s hair, now wet from being in the range of the waterfall coming from the showerhead. And speaking of heads, one was in the clouds while the other was feeling just fucking spectacular. He keeps a steady hold on Jean’s hair, tugging slightly in a way he hopes is kinky and not stupid or irritating to his beautiful friend giving him a beautiful blowjob. Instead, he feels vibrations around his cock and finds soft, muffled moans coming from Jean. 

“You look a-ah-mazing from this angle...” Marco manages to pant to his partner. He’s never really been the kind to desire a blow job, especially not when he was with a girl. No matter how “experienced” a girl was, they never knew how to actually hold his cock, and they always tried weird stuff like biting “gently” (which was never the case), or yanking instead of rubbing. At least, that had been the case in the very few, unpleasant experiences of Marco. But with guys, he’d always imagined it would be simpler. And as Jean holds him and sucks and rubs him just so, Marco knows he has been right to hold out. 

Jean decides that, if he’s getting such good reactions from Marco now, it’s probably time to step it up. So he does, slowly sliding his lips and enveloping Marco halfway down, and Marco practically fucking sings. Jean hears his name over and over, and each time Marco calls, it sounds hotter and hotter. Marco pulls Jean’s hair again, and he gasps so violently that Jean immediately stops and looks up in concern.

“Why’d you stop?” Marco questions instantly. “Jean, please, keep going, I’m starting to get close.” His voice is demanding. Jean didn’t know it was possible for his freckled friend to show such a side.

He smirks and pulls away. “Oh, come on, Marco. I can’t let you get off that easy.”

“Sc-screw you,” Marco’s voice shudders at the tug of Jean’s hand.

“I thought that was the point,” Jean replies innocently. He stands up and pulls back the shower curtain, hair dripping as he reaches into the small wicker cabinet on the wall. He pushes aside a few different medicines and comes away with a small bottle filled with clear, viscous liquid. “Guess what this is.”

Marco’s face lights up and he grabs the bottle. Before unscrewing it, though, he looks up at Jean, confusion etched in his brow. “Jean, wait, you didn’t finish yet...with me, I mean.”

“Hey, it’s no fun when you’re the one that gets to come first. How do I know you’re not the kind of guy that just, like, shoots once and then falls asleep standing?” Jean shakes his head and places his hands on Marco’s hips, standing on his tiptoes just a little in order for his lips to reach the hollow below his ear. “No, you’re not finishing until you’re inside me.”

Yup, if Marco had an erection before, he was absolutely rock hard now. Jean, whom he’d met two years ago, whom he’d been “just friends” with, is now asking for him. Marco can’t get the top off of the lube fast enough. He turns around, away from the shower’s spray, and squirts some of the contents into his hand. Before preparing himself, he coyly says, “I’m going to count to three, and if you’re not in some sort of sexy ‘ready’ pose, I’m finishing myself.” He strokes once, counts one. Strokes twice, counts two. Strokes thrice, counts three. He turns around, and Jean just laughs and kisses him.

“You’re eager, huh?” Jean grabs the opened bottle of lube from Marco’s shaky hand. He turns around and squirts some into his palm, slicking up a few fingers and immediately sticking one in. He sighs as he moves his finger in and out of himself, and within a few minutes he’s got two fingers inside, scissoring and stretching and trying to loosen himself up enough so that he can enjoy what’s to come. When he adds a third, feeling Marco’s eyes on him, one brushes against his prostate, and he gasps.

Marco practically growls as he says, “Jean, go against the wall.” Jean laughs again, and Marco swears he’s going to find a way to bottle up that laugh and keep it for himself.

The blond pulls his fingers out and braces himself against the tile wall, intentionally sticking his ass out a little. Jean Kirschstein, of course, is nothing if not a show-off.

Marco is not surprised at Jean’s whorey display, but shit if he can’t say that Jean’s ass is fine. Marco strokes himself a few more times to make sure he’s prepared, and then takes Jean by the hips. Then he freezes. It’s now registering that he’s topping first, and that he’s only ever done girls, and that shit oh no he’s going to mess this up oh no, oh no, oh--

“Marco,” Jean says, looking back at him with a small smile. “Don’t be nervous. It’s just like with a girl, yeah?”

“Except you’re much hotter and much more important than a girl.”

Jean’s face reddens and he looks away. “Okay, rule number one, you’re not allowed to say things that make me feel like a fucking googley-eyed school girl. Rule two--”

But he doesn’t get to finish, because in a fit of nerves and surrendering and experimentation, Marco quickly thrusts himself forward, not filling Jean immediately, but certainly not slowing down enough for Jean to prepare.

“ _Jesus_ , Marco!” Jean hisses, his hands clawing at the wall.

Marco tries to apologize, tries to pull out and start again, but oh God does Jean feel good. Marco closes his eyes, whimpering a little, though he is the one on top. Still, that doesn’t matter to him. He’s now inside Jean, and Jean is amazingly...something. God, he can’t even think straight. All he can focus on is the almost musical noises escaping from the other boy’s mouth as Marco pushes in further.

Jean, despite the rather abrupt start, is basically in heaven. Marco’s acting like a fucking virgin, but Jean thinks it’s sort of cute, and also there’s the all-forgiving fact that _Marco’s cock is finally up his ass after all this time like woah_. He’s fantasized about this for a really long time, and he wants to cry from how good it feels for Marco Bodt to be _his_. 

Marco hears a mumbling noise coming from Jean’s mouth, as if he’s about to cry. But he doesn’t, and the boy on top proceeds to thrust forward, finally inserting his entire length. “You feel incredible,” he whispers as he leans forward and kisses Jean’s back, relishing the small goosebumps that have formed. He continues to thrust, in and out, picking up speed and taking encouragement from the whimpers and moans he hears beneath him. At some point, Jean reaches down to stroke himself in time with Marco. 

“Jean, fuck, Jean.” Marco increases the pace even more, thrusting deeper and deeper, sweat beading on his forehead and his breaths coming out in pants that he hopes are bringing on a moment of release. “Jean, I-I’m--”

“Marco,” Jean moans, leaning his head back to rest on the freckled shoulder behind him. 

This act of contact is enough to send Marco over the edge, releasing into Jean just as he hears the other, in the midst of his escalating cries of pleasure, mutter a small, “I love you.”

...That isn’t a typical thing to hear while still inside someone after you’ve both just come together. Or, perhaps it is, but not for two maybe-more-than-friends who’ve just fucked in a shower after confessing their feelings for the first time in the early hours of the morning. What prompted Jean to say this? Should Marco return the words? But, Marco doesn’t even know what’s fully going on, because he’s still a little hazy and warm and collecting himself after having one of the best moments of his life with a boy who has just confessed a love for him that he isn’t sure he can reciprocate so suddenly…

With all of these thoughts going through his head, Marco manages to find a single word that sums them all up: “Huh?”

Jean tenses up, and even though he is still on a high from his release, he immediately pulls away and starts cleaning himself up. “Sorry, don’t mind me. I shouldn’t have said that.” He steps out of the shower and grabs a towel from the rack, wraps it around his waist, and leaves the bathroom, his knees wobbling from the aftereffects of the shower’s events. He shuts the door to his bedroom, locks it, and falls face-first onto his bed. Maybe if he falls asleep quickly, he’ll forget that he just _confessed his stupid love to stupid beautiful Marco, Jean you’re a fucking idiot, he’s never going to forgive you, oh my God you had to go and make it awkward once he finally was yours_.

But he can’t fall asleep, especially not when he hears Marco shut off the shower, walk out of the bathroom and toward Jean’s bedroom, pause, turn around, and head back to his own.

\---

_“Huh?” Really? That was the best you could come up with?_ Marco’s mind interrogates him as he scrubs viciously at his face with a loofah, because he and Jean had been a little too preoccupied doing everything but what they had come to the shower to do. Marco scrubs until he swears he feels his skin start to peel, and even then he scrubs a few more times for good measure, thinking, _He tells you he loves you, and you respond with, “Huh?” God he must hate you, or at least, must think you hate him. You and your stupid freckles and stupid virgin brain just messed everything up. You don’t respond to, “I love you,” with, “Huh?”_

Marco sets down the loofah on the edge of the tub, turns off the water, and steps out, examining his red face in the mirror. He knows he shouldn’t have scrubbed so hard, and he is now paying the price with the hot, radiating pain he feels slowly overtaking his face. Nevertheless, he miraculously can’t find a trace of the black marker left. His freckles are no longer stars Jean had touched and kissed and tried to connect. They’re now ordinary, ugly spots. Marco sighs as he rummages in the medicine cabinet for a bottle of lotion and applies it to avoid any peeling skin. The lotion is cool and smooth, but it only fixes one of his problems. He puts the tube back in the cabinet, grabs a towel and makes his way down the hall, stopping in front of Jean’s bedroom. 

He can’t stop thinking about how the other boy had fled, as if Marco had said something so awful, he couldn’t even bear to be in his presence. Maybe Marco should apologize? Will Jean want that so soon? Should he knock? His hand lifts and wavers, fisted, in front of his roommate’s door. Marco’s made fun of Jean’s door many times. It’s got countless posters of half-naked chicks from various Playboy magazines, and a yellow traffic sign bearing the statement, “Keep Out (unless you’re hot)”. It’s such a sham now that Marco knows Jean is more into the D than the V he so blatantly tries to advertise for, and Marco can’t help but exhale a small chuckle. But try as he might, he can’t do the simple motion of bringing his hand down to make contact with the left breast of some random Asian girl riding a Harley. He isn’t ready to let Jean know he is outside of his room and willing to talk, to apologize, to kiss his soft lips and take back his stupid reaction.

So, instead, Marco heads back to his room, where his door is decorated with nothing, and where he carries a whole, black-markerless galaxy onto his bed and nestles it against his pillow, soaking it with tears.

\---

Jean wakes up at eight o’clock with the towel still around his waist, and his pillow damp. He can’t tell if it’s from the wet hair he fell asleep with, or the tears that he finds have stained his cheeks when he stands up and sees himself in the mirror. Eight o’clock, and it’s Monday, so Marco is in class right now. He won’t be back until nine-thirty, by which time Jean will have left for work. He sighs, relieved that he can basically avoid Marco all day.

Jean pulls on a pair of boxers and unlocks his door, making his way down the hallway to the kitchen. He walks in, stretching and yawning, and stops abruptly when he sees Marco, sitting at the small circular table with a coffee mug in hand, likely his second or third judging by the half-empty pot and the way his left leg bounces up and down ceaselessly.

“What’s that look for?” Marco asks with a raised eyebrow, feeling slightly self conscious as Jean stares at him like he’s a ghost. He tries not to look down at Jean’s very naked torso, or glance at his boxers, which are a tad too tight.

“What are you doing here?” Jean replies, suddenly very aware of the fact that he isn’t wearing anything besides his boxers. He avoids Marco’s gaze and becomes very interested in the prospect of getting himself a bowl of cereal.

“I mean, we share this apartment, and it’s Sunday, and last time I checked I’m not really into church, so I’m here.” 

Jean pauses. “It’s Sunday?” Marco points a finger to their color coded chore chart on the fridge, and Jean realizes that he’s not only fucked up their night together, but also the days of the week. “Shit, then I’m going back to bed,” he says quickly, dumping his bowl of milk into the sink and putting away the box of Cap’n Crunch he had gotten out. “G’night,” he says, and turns to flee from the kitchen, and from Marco.

“Hey! Jean, come on, come sit down.” Marco calls to the retreating boy, patting the seat next to him at the table in a way he hopes is inviting. He honestly can’t fathom how things could have gone from so amazing to so awkward in such a short time last night, but they had, and now he feels like he should at least _talk_ with the guy who he’d had his cock in. 

Jean sighs and returns. “Can I at least put on some pants first?” he asks from the doorway.

“Yes, fine,” Marco answers quickly, because already his eyes are tempted to fixate on Jean’s ass, which is half turned to him, because he is half in the kitchen and in the hall, and Marco is feeling half aroused but also not because he’s supposed to be trying to talk this out with Jean, not get in his pants for the second time in twenty-four hours.

Jean leaves and comes back soon, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants that sit on his hips so Marco can see the v-shape of his hipbones and _focus Bodt, Jesus_. Jean wasn’t into the V, but _damn_ did he have it-- _no, Marco, what did you just tell yourself?_

“Okay, you’ve got clothes on,” Marco states, flinching at the slight crack in his voice. “You good to talk now?”

“That’s a loaded question,” Jean responds, sitting in the chair opposite Marco and turning it away and toward the window. “Depends on what exactly you want to talk about.”

“I was thinking of calculus or the study of dark matter, maybe even discussing the meaning of life?” Marco waits for Jean to crack even the semblance of a smile, but his features remain stony. Marco sighs. “Okay, fine. I think you know what it’s about.” 

“I’m an idiot. Enlighten me.”

“Jean, please.” Marco feels a cold shiver sweep across his body. His stomach feels tight, and he pushes away his cup of coffee. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“Fine, then I will. We fucked, I said something I shouldn’t have, and now we’re both going to forget about it and go back to being best fucking buddies, alright?”

“No, Jean." Marco's fists are clenching. He can't believe how stubborn the other boy is being. "You can forget about it," he assures, pain tinting his tone as he continues, "but I sure as hell can’t, because I've never felt so close to someone during sex. Our sex was absolutely amazing, and afterwards you told me you loved me.” Marco feels his face grow hot, but whether or not that’s a remaining effect from the vigorous scrubbing is not his main concern. He looks Jean directly in the eye, challenging him to answer. 

Jean looks away, his hands also balling into fists. He doesn’t know how to respond, and so he doesn’t say anything. He just stares out the window and tries not to punch something.

“What? You’re just going to remain angsty this whole time? Because, news flash, I’m just as confused as you.”

“I’m not confused, Marco. I _know_ how I feel. But you don’t care, do you? You don’t feel the same way, and I knew that from the start.” Jean stands up. “I’m done. I’m going back to bed.”

“ _Jean_. Sit. The fuck. Down.” Marco’s voice is darker than he himself even recognizes, but he doesn’t care. Jean is acting childish. They are not done, they are going to sit and talk about this like fucking adults. “Good, you know how you feel. I’m happy for you. But I don’t, so you’re going to sit with me while I talk out loud. You don’t have to listen, but maybe this will help me figure some shit out, okay?” He is pretty proud of himself for not cracking while keeping his tone so menacing. 

Jean sits down. He doesn’t say anything, but Marco takes it as an invitation to keep going.

“So last night...Jean, last night was incredible.”

“That is about the worst thing you could have possibly started with,” Jean interrupts.

“Wonderful. Anyway, while that may sound lame or whatever, I’m not sorry. Because it was, and I have never felt so fantastic with another person before. I’ve never been with another guy, but then you come along, and for some reason, last night, you decided to draw on my face with stupid permanent marker. How marker lead to sex, only God knows. But I’m glad it did, okay? Because I’ve just been sort of going through the motions, you know? I go to school, every so often I find a girl to mess around with. But it means nothing. Then, I come home, you’re here, and I sometimes see you looking at me in a way that no normal dude looks at his friend, and it’s more meaningful than any night I’ve spent with a girl.” Marco isn’t sure why his eyes are stinging, but he ignores it, his finger jabbing at Jean with every mention of “you”. 

\“And then, last night, you just so happened to put your face close enough to mine, and I kissed you, and you didn’t break away, and we fucked, and as I'm relishing in this amazing feeling afterwards, you just come out and say 'I love you'. Don't you understand how scary that was? Especially....especially since you’re the first person who’s said that to me and probably actually meant it." Marco feels his throat grow right, but he swallows and persists, never breaking his focus on Jean. "I’m sorry I acted surprised. I’m sorry if you don’t think I was justified to do that. But I was surprised because everything was happening so fast, and I was surprised because I probably love you too, Jean, but I just don’t know yet. I need time to figure that out. But I want to figure it out. I want to really badly. But you being pissed at me puts a damper on that. So that’s all I have to say.” He gets up, mug in hand, voice finally giving on the last sentence as he quickly goes over to the sink and dumps the rest of his coffee out. He then stays there, staring at the brown liquid swirling down the drain. 

“I’m sorry.”

The voice is small, and very, very scared, and it sounds nothing like the Jean that Marco knows so well. Of course, he’s finding quickly that there’s still a lot to learn, but he’s certain that he is the only person that Jean Kirschtein would ever show any sort of weakness to. The other young man is brash and arrogant, the kind of person that always gets in trouble at work for telling off annoying customers. He’s not the kind of person that can look so small and vulnerable in a wooden kitchen chair, despite the broadness of his shoulders, and the muscles he’s worked so hard to develop and maintain.

And yet, Jean seemed to fold into himself, still regretting his actions deeply. He’s not convinced that any of this was for the better--just that he screwed up their friendship and made Marco angry at him. Although he hears what Marco says, he doesn’t believe it, especially not the part about Marco maybe loving him back, because he’s too busy wallowing in his own misery to man up.

Marco can’t bear the intense sadness that is packed into the two simple words Jean utters. He places the mug into the sink, and turns to Jean, who seems smaller in stature now. “It’s not fair, you know.” He walks over to the other boy and places his head against his right shoulder. “It’s not fair for you to be able to make me feel this way. I like you way too much.”

“Look who’s talking,” Jean mumbles, a hand reaching up to gently, timidly stroke Marco’s hair. “You’re talking about fairness, but _I’m_ the one who’s had to deal with you walking out of the shower for two years, in only a towel and covered by water. Now _that’s_ unfair.”

Marco finds a laugh. “Touché.” They stay like this, and Marco wraps his arms around Jean. He’s firm and he fits well in a hug. Jean fits well with Marco, period. Jean is Marco’s. “So…”

Jean chuckles. “So.”

“You love me?” 

The blond sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. How could I not?”

Marco gives Jean a cheesy grin. “It’s because of my stars, isn’t it?”

“Oh, get over yourself,” Jean laughs as he shoves Marco away. “That’s not the only reason.”

“Right. I also have a _great_ personality.” 

“Speaking of your sparkling personality, I’d say something about not liking dicks, but that’s a blatant lie.”

“Your door would say otherwise,” Marco slyly replies, sneaking a kiss onto Jean’s cheek. “That’s just one big testament to your testosterone, right?”

“Oh, shut up. Ymir gives them to me so that Christa doesn’t see them.” He laughs and stands up. “Anyway, want to go out for breakfast? It can be my lame attempt at taking you out on a first date.”

Marco pretends to take a moment to ponder Jean’s offer. “Mmm...I guess so. But, first,” Marco pushes Jean against the nearest wall, nipping at his neck. “You made a mistake wearing sweatpants, Kirschtein. I see your boner as clear as day.” 

Jean laughs, his hands placing themselves on Marco’s hips. “Look who’s talking, Bodt. You’ve been ogling me this whole time.”

“Hm, you can still talk. Give me a minute.” Marco pulls down Jeans sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion. “Wow. You’re even bigger in the light of day. Dim shower lighting does not do your dick justice, Jean Kirschtein.” He sinks down slowly, kissing Jean’s abdomen as he makes his way to his cock, which he eagerly takes into his mouth. 

Jean chuckles and cards a hand through Marco’s hair, stroking it lovingly. “For someone who’s never been with a guy before, you’re pretty good at this.”

Marco removes his mouth from Jean to reply with, “I’m a visual learner.” He winks and takes Jean back, sucking him until he hears beautiful moaning from above. He swallows him halfway down, and pulls him halfway out again. Every part of Jean vibrates with pleasure and Marco in turn vibrates alongside him. He flicks his tongue against Jean’s head, and the boy practically keels over, his knees are so weak.

Jean doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he never does, so one grips onto the fake granite countertop, and the other continues to gently stroke Marco’s hair. When the brunet tugs on him in just the right way, he gasps and bends forward. “Marco…” He pushes on his boyfriend’s head. _Boyfriend?_ Is Marco his boyfriend? Well, whatever he is, he’s going to get a salty mouthful in a second if he doesn’t pull away.

But Marco is much too preoccupied. He hears Jean’s voice, acknowledges what he’s implying, and raises a middle finger to the other boy as he sucks even harder.

Jean can’t help but laugh through his ragged moans as he comes, because, God, he’s really far gone for this boy. Later, he realizes that was the first time he’s ever laughed during sex, even just a blowjob. But right now, he’s holding Marco’s head in his hands reverently as the brunet swallows his cum like he’s been doing it forever.

“Well, I wouldn’t do that for just anyone,” Marco laughs as he wipes his mouth. “But you’re lucky it’s you.” 

Jean grins and leans down to kiss him. “Go brush your teeth. You taste like morning breath, coffee, and jizz.”

“I’ll do that, and then how about you take me out for that real breakfast?” The blond grins and pulls Marco to his feet before pulling his pants back up. 

“Sounds good to me.”

Marco smiles brighter than he ever has. Because Jean is his, and Jean is wonderful. And maybe, just maybe, Marco is falling in love with him. 

\---

Marco yawns widely as he walks into class Monday morning. He and Jean had been up half the night, and in between kissing and other activities, they got next to no sleep. Marco plops into the nearest seat and lets his bag drop onto the floor, his head resting on the desk. Class didn’t start for another 5 minutes. Maybe he had enough time--

“Marcoooo!”

_Oh, God_ , Marco thinks, and looks up to see none other than Connie Springer waving at him. Connie is a friend of Jean’s, and Marco has become pretty close to him as well through classes. But Connie was sometimes a bit much to be around, especially in the morning. Nevertheless, Marco lets out a weak, “Hey, Connie. What’s up?”

“Nothing, man. Just living, am I right?” Connie sounds like he's been smoking all weekend, and the effects of said smoking have not yet worn off.

_Technically, you are right, Connie_. “Yeah, I feel you, man.” Marco places his head back on the desk.

“So how was your weekend?” The boy continues, running his hand over his shaved head. “Jean was supposed to come over Sunday, but he called and said he was sick. 'S he doing okay?”

Marco nearly bursts out laughing, because he had witnessed Jean making the call. Afterwards they had made out, and Jean quipped some lame comment about Marco’s eyes being black holes in the constellations of his face, to which Marco rolled his eyes and gave him a hickey on his neck. “Yeah, yeah, Jean’s fine. We’re both fine." He added absentmindedly, a smile taking over his lips for a minute before he cleared his throat. "Now, Connie, I’m trying to get a minute of sleep before class, so if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, sure. Late night man, I feel.” Connie is about to leave, when he pauses, captivated with curiosity. “Hey, Marco….what’s that black stuff on the side of your face?"

Marco’s eyes fly open and go wide. 

_Oh crap…_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Kiana (and partially Meredie) for some kickass beta-ing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Marco's Starry Night Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13069395) by [voltronlegendarysinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voltronlegendarysinner/pseuds/voltronlegendarysinner)




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